


Nothing Left of Me

by fancywaffles



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancywaffles/pseuds/fancywaffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders and Hawke have fundamental differences that tear them and everything around them apart, but they still can't seem to get away from each other. (The story of an aggressive!Hawke's rivalmance with Anders.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"She does nothing," Anders said. The injustice, the hypocrisy of it all. "She brings us with her and supports templars and those that would crush mages underfoot." Why was he even still helping her? Surely he'd paid her back for her help with Karl with those Deep Roads maps. How did he find himself sucked in Hawke's orbit so quickly.

"You have to understand. My sister," Bethany trailed off and sighed, looking up the path at Hawke who did not slow her pace for their own. "She only has so much stored up. If she cares about someone, she'll strangle a dragon with her bare hands to keep them safe. Caring about _everyone_ that much would burn her out." Bethany looked at him. She didn't look much like her sister, but there was something to the nose, the shape of their chins. "You should be happy you're one of those people."

"I don't need her to keep me safe," Anders said.

"Don't you?" Bethany asked. "I know, I do. I would never have survived this long without my family." She frowned a little. "Maybe not Uncle Gamlen, though I suppose I should give him credit for not turning me in to the templars."

"Basic human compassion shouldn't deserve a reward," Anders said.

"She likes you," Bethany added, almost out of nowhere, until Anders realized Hawke had glanced back at them. Her sharp look wasn't quite a glare, now that Anders was examining it more closely she was sizing them up, looking at the road behind them, always constantly on her guard for their sakes.

Their eyes met for a moment and the sharp look softened a hair, before Hawke snapped her head back around and shouted behind her. "Hurry up, we haven't got all day."

"Why do you care so much?" Anders asked, a little quieter, even though there was no way Hawke could hear them from that far ahead.

"Because my sister has been taking care of me her whole life. It would be nice if someone would take care of her too."

"I'm not that person," Anders said. He couldn't be. He had too much to do to bring justice to this world. He was a mire of pain, anger, and indignity. If there was more to Hawke than ice cold eyes and sharp features, then she deserved to stay away from him.

Bethany frowned at him. "If that's how you feel about it."

"It's for her own good," Anders said. He didn't need to defend himself. The woman had been nothing but aggressive and demanding since he'd met her. She was was single-mindedly focused on slaughtering her way to fifty gold as quickly as possible; Anders doubted he crossed her mind.

"Because mages are dangerous?" Bethany asked.

"No, because I am."

The younger Hawke sister laughed at him. He'd gotten Hawke to laugh once, but it sounded nothing like Bethany's delighted giggle. She thought the idea of him being dangerous was laughable. Anders felt sick, at least her sister eyed him with some suspicion.

Now he was confusing himself, did he want Hawke to hate him or like him? Anders had no idea how he'd gotten himself wrapped up in this mess.

"I'm not going to ask again," Hawke shot back over her shoulder. "Hurry up."

"You'd have to ask in the first place," Bethany shot back, cheerily, but increased her pace. Anders followed, despite himself.


	2. Chapter 2

"You cut your hair," Anders said, rather stupidly.

"I got blood in it," Hawke said.

It took him a few seconds to catch on, possibly because she was staring at him with that terrifying straight-on gaze of hers.

"You're joking."

Hawke's lips twitched a little and she shrugged. "It happens on occasion." Her fingers played with the ends of her hair, an unusually soft gesture. "Felt like a change. Had the old style since Lothering."

"More suited to a noblewoman's finery?" Anders guessed, though he heard the scoff in his own voice.

Hawke's fingers stopped playing with her hair and dropped to her side, resting lightly on one hip. He'd seen her move from that position to grabbing the daggers strapped on her back too many times to count. Had he actually upset her?

"What are you doing down here?" Anders asked. "Not that I mind the company, but I thought you'd be done with Darktown now that you've gotten the estate in working order."

"It needed more renovations," Hawke said, an edge to her voice. Anders wondered if he was the one who had put it there. "I need to stay clear for a while, before I stab my mother for wasting all that coin on a bloody chandelier."

"You're joking," Anders said again, unable to help putting a question to the end of it. "Aren't you?"

Hawke shrugged, this time her lips didn't twitch.

"I thought that was what you wanted." Anders wanted to understand her, he'd been trying desperately, mostly to understand himself and why he kept answering her call when she seemed to care nothing of his cause or his kind (beyond her sister... and Anders had to admit, himself).

All Hawke had done since he'd met her was take job after job to save up enough money for the Deep Roads expedition. She wanted the coin to earn back her family home and now she had it and she looked...

Well she looked beautiful. He'd have to be blind not to notice. Her hair was no longer tied back against her neck, instead it hung brushing over her shoulders. It looked soft (the only part of her that was) and he wanted to reach out and touch the ends, matching the spots her own fingers had touched. But beyond beautiful, she looked dissatisfied.

"I wanted Bethany to be safe and Mother to be happy," Hawke said, frowning at the floor.

"Is she not happy?" Anders asked.

"How can she be when neither of us know if Bethany is safe?" Hawke's words were light, but Anders saw the hand not resting at her side, gripped tightly, so hard that the knuckles were turning white.

"I'm sorry," Anders said.

Hawke looked back up at him. Her eyes were something that he'd never seen, surprised. "For what?"

"The Wardens. They are their own sort of death sentence, I should have stressed that more, I--"

"Stop," Hawke said, firmly. She moved towards him with the purposed gait of a cat about to bite into a mouse. "You are the _only_ reason she might still be alive."

"Might?" Anders asked. "You still haven't heard?" It had been months. Stroud wasn't nearly so cruel. Surely he would have sent some kind of word if the Joining hadn't taken... then again...

Hawke turned her head away, jaw clenching tightly. What he'd said had hurt her. Anders did not want so much power over her.

"I never should have taken her down there," Hawke said, voice quiet. "I thought she'd be safer with darkspawn than in the city."

What had Bethany said? That her sister watched out for everyone and no one watched out for her?

"She wanted to come," Anders said. Had he moved closer or had Hawke? Either way there was little distance between them. He could see the rise and fall of her chest over the collar of her armor. How would she look dressed in a noblewoman's finery? Would more than her hair be soft?

"This is you facing something you can't kill to fix, isn't it?" Anders asked.

Hawke let out a snorted laugh and hung her head. Her hair, no longer tied back, cascaded around her face.

He knew better than to do it, but Anders reached out for her still clenched hand and touched each knuckle until she loosened her grip and her palm lay flat against his own. Her breathing was a little quicker now.

"You'd do anything for your cause, wouldn't you?" Hawke asked, still so dangerously quiet that Anders had to step close enough that their boots were touching to hear her.

"If I could do something that would finally give freedom to my people... there isn't a price I wouldn't pay," Anders said. The thrum in the back of his mind that was Justice, hummed in agreement.

"My cause is my family," Hawke said, her palm slid down Anders' and then she tilted her head up so that her nose brushed against his cheek and they were staring at each other, inches apart. "What do you do, when you've given everything and you still can't win?"

Kissing her was not the right answer, but Anders wanted to. He wanted to plunder her mouth, twist his fingers through her hair and rip the armor from her body. He wanted to hear gasping noises that weren't grunts of pain as she fought off attackers. He wanted... he wanted her. And that was dangerous.

"You fight anyway," Anders said and stepped back, sliding his boot against the dirt covered slats of the floor. He squeezed her hand and let it go, a friendly gesture, ignoring the light, almost delicate sigh that escaped Hawke's mouth as he did so.

"Well," she said, lips curling in a humorless smile. "I'm good at that." She brushed her fingers, the same ones Anders had been touching moments before through her newly shorn hair and then turned. "I should get back. Mother will spend the entire fortune on curtains if I don't keep watch." She didn't turn back around, but her foot tapped and then settled like she was thinking about it. "Thank you, Anders. For... for Bethany. I don't think I said that."

"It... was the least I could do," Anders said. He hoped she didn't regret it.

"The least you could have done was nothing," Hawke said. She was going to walk out of Darktown and back to where she belonged, up in Hightown in Noblewoman's finery, surrounded by a mother who cared and too many daggers.

The smart thing, the right thing to do, was to say nothing. Anders had never been smart. He called out after her. "Not that my opinion matters, but I really like the hair. It suits you."

Hawke glanced back at him over her shoulder, there was a glimmer of something in her eyes and maybe even a smile before she turned back around and walked off.


	3. Chapter 3

When Hawke had to drag herself from killing bandits preying on the refugees of Darktown, she almost missed Lowtown. At least then it was a shorter walk to Gamlen's and she had to deal with fewer looks from the noblemen as she walked, bloody and tired through the streets to her estate.

Bodhan's greeting caught in his throat. She thought the dwarf would be used to it by now, but he seemed a slow learner. At least he and Sandal were both pulling their weight and keeping Mother company.

"It's not my blood," Hawke said, to assure him. It wasn't. Mostly. That dagger that had gone through her ribs had been healed by a gentle pair of hands. Anders always looked best when he was concentrating. And worried. She had to resist getting stabbed more often to get his hands on her.

"Bodhan," she said, dragging her boots off and throwing them on the mat. She didn't want another raking over the coals for dragging dirt into her own house from Mother. "Draw a bath and have Sandal use that warming enchantment again."

"Yes, messere!" The dwarf went off to do what he was told, if he could be less cheery about it Hawke might start to become fond of him.

The trip upstairs was excruciating, but by the time she'd dragged her clothes off and settled into the hot water there was nothing but relief. She sank underneath the water until her entire head was submerged and came up again, feeling clean of Darktown's filth. She didn't know how Anders could stand living down there. The water stayed warm for ages, Sandal was a genius when he wasn't an idiot, so Hawke felt herself drift off a few times.

A knock at her door had her alert at once, reaching for her dagger.

"Can I come in, darling?"

Hawke let out a sigh. "One moment," she drew herself, reluctantly, out of the warm water and dried off, throwing a robe around her shoulders and covering the dagger she always kept on her thigh.

Her mother entered the room. She looked happy enough, but Hawke was not so certain it was genuine. Since letters from Bethany in the Wardens were few and far between, their mother had been kept busy attempting to regain her noble foothold. She seemed bored, but Hawke's only suggestion would be teaching to use a dagger and that was insane.

Mother moved towards her and ran a hand over her hair. "You must indulge me, darling. I'd like to see you look like a lady for once."

"I--" Hawke had literally faced a dragon and not balked, but in the face of that look from her mother, she merely sighed. "What for?"

"For dinner," Mother said and gestured Hawke towards the vanity. "You look so like me as a girl," she said, playing with the wet strands of Hawke's hair and smiling at her in the mirror. "At little less cheerful, but my hair used to look like this. I think it's what attracted your father to me."

"Tell me about it," Hawke asked. She wasn't truly listening as her mother went on to describe, again, the story of meeting Malcolm Hawke. Hawke had heard it enough times to know every detail, but her mother always seemed to pick up when she told it and the soothing way she brushed through Hawke's hair and spoke so warmly was as comforting as the bath had been.

Thinking of her mother this happy, kept Hawke from the anger that gnawed at her thinking of Bethany, cold and alone in the dark, lost in a world without her eldest sister's protection.

By the time her mother was done with her, Hawke found herself looking at an unfamiliar reflection in the mirror. Her hair had been curled to look a bit like Bethany's though a much lighter shade and the dress she was wearing was fancy Orlesian silks instead of the comfortable Kirkwall style cloths she usually wore. The portrait she'd given Bethany when they'd reclaimed the estate looked like this... she looked like her mother when her mother had been Leandra Amell, no husband, children or worries.

Hawke wasn't sure if she liked it or not, but she was humoring her mother so she went down to join her for dinner, glad no one else was here to witness and comment on her appearance.

Except at the door was Sebastian.

"Prince Vael," Mother said, delighted. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"Please call me Sebastian, Lady Hawke."

"Sebastian," her mother replied with a pleased murmur.

The Prince of Starkhaven strode towards her Mother and took her hand, kissing it gallantly with a bow befitting his station. He looked so strange out of armor. He wasn't wearing robes to match his station, they looked like clean clothes of the Chantry, but they suited him all the same.

Hawke almost wished he were wearing the armor. She absolutely wished _she_ were wearing her own.

"My lady," Sebastian said, with a bow of his own for Hawke. "Thank you for inviting me."

"I didn't," Hawke said, unsure whether to curtsy, bow or stab both of them to find out what this was about.

Sebastian looked at her, assessing her in his gaze, and she felt a little uncomfortably flushed, embarrassment was not something she was adept at handling, but he turned his thanks to her mother instead.

"Oh no need. I merely like to get to know my daughter's friends," Mother said, smiling and taking the arm Sebastian offered to escort her to the dining room with an effortless, shameful sort of grace.

"Of which she has many," Sebastian agreed. He didn't even sound sarcastic.

"Did you invite any of them as well?" Hawke asked, trying her best not to glower.

"I tried to reach out to a few," Mother said. "Those elves you associate with are very strange, dear."

"Fenris is fine," Hawke said watching Sebastian hold out the chair for her mother who fawned over the action like an idiot. Hawke tried to hold back her irritation as he came around to do the same for her. She found herself _not_ wanting to stab him but took the seat without looking at him and folded her hands in her lap.

Maybe the dress had blood magic.

"Fenris has accomplished much considering all that he's been through. It is proof of the Maker's plan that he manages such resistance."

"You are quite dedicated to the Chantry," Mother said. "Isn't he, dear?"

"Why do you need my confirmation? Of course he is. Talk to him for five minutes and you'll learn as much."

Sebastian laughed, good-naturedly. Hawke liked that he didn't rattle easily. She reached for her wine glass, already filled, thank the Maker.

"That's such a nice quality in a young man these days," Mother said. "It's a surprise that you haven't even been engaged yet, Sebastian. A handsome, respectful young man like yourself should be swept up immediately."

Hawke choked on her wine as soon it touched her lips and coughed a little, ignoring the look her mother was giving her. "You--"

"Ah, Lady Hawke," Sebastian said, "I am afraid I give the wrong impression. Your daughter, while lovely--" Not a word Hawke had ever heard describe herself. "--is not Andraste, of whom I have sworn myself to, along with the Chantry."

Mother looked put out, but unfortunately not deterred. "But surely you have to think of heirs, as the last of your line."

" _Mother_ ," Hawke snapped, putting her wine glass down. "Is it not enough you had to humiliate me by trying to marry me off, but you have to add heirs into the mix too? Would you have even done this if Bethany was still here?"

Too far. She often straddled the line, harder when it was opinions she cared about and not those that mattered little, but the way her mother's face fell and she held back tears dug at Hawke and she wished she had the words to fix it--but she had never been good with words only actions.

"I apologize for my... a useless old woman in her daughter's house," Mother said and pushed her chair back. "If you'll excuse me..." She left too quickly for even Sebastian, who was good at words, to say anything.

Hawke sighed loudly and threaded her fingers together, resting her forehead on them.

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll slit your throat."

"Hawke," Sebastian said. Something about his voice was leading.

She dropped her hands to the table, shaking the dinnerware near her. "What?"

"Maybe you should go after her."

"She'll calm down and realize how silly this was," Hawke said. "I'm not Bethany."

"I did not meet your sister," Sebastian said, "but it seems to me that your mother isn't seeing you as her. She's merely seeing her daughter and trying to settle her." He was infuriatingly calm and a smirk quirked his lips. "At least she isn't dropping you off at the Chantry against your will."

"Do you miss it?" Hawke asked. "Being a prince, going to noble parties, having women throw their daughters at you."

Sebastian laughed. "At first, but I never felt purposed then. Now that I have that, that I've dedicated myself to it, I wouldn't want to go back."

Hawke had a purpose. It was keeping her family safe. She'd failed Carver and Bethany and her mother was safe enough to turn to this nattering dotage, what was there left to do?

"If you're serious about retaking Starkhaven," Hawke said, blunt as ever, "you are going to have to consider that Andraste cannot have your heir."

Sebastian's lips twitched a hair downwards. "I have no immediate plans of that nature."

"Keep telling yourself that," Hawke said and then sighed, pushing herself out of her chair. Sebastian stood automatically when she did. A moment passed between them where she wanted to tell him to shove it, that she was no lady of the house and that he should get used to it. It was only a moment. The part of her that enjoyed the small act of chivalry won out.

"Feel free to finish dinner. I will... see you later."

"Of course, Hawke," Sebastian said.

She didn't go so far as to curtsy and made her way upstairs to her mother's room. She tapped her knuckles against the door. "I'm coming in," she announced and then did so.

Her mother was sitting at her own table, little pieces of fabric spread out before her. They were... dress samples maybe. One of them was the same shade as what Hawke was wearing.

"I didn't mean to snap at you, but you must have known how ridiculous that would feel."

Her mother said nothing, merely smoothed a finger over the fabric.

"I'm sorry," Hawke added, the words jilted and stiff.

Leandra Hawke laughed and sighed before turning towards her. "Do you realize how much like your father you sound sometimes?"

"No," Hawke said. She had her arms stiffly crossed underneath her breasts. "Is that a good thing?"

"Sometimes," Mother said, the hint of her smile a relief. "You know I... I have to think about your future. It isn't that I'm trying to make you Bethany. I don't want you to be alone. Marrying your father was the best thing I ever did."

"But you missed this," Hawke said, gesturing to herself and the ornate gown.

"Sometimes," Mother admitted. "But not enough to regret finding that love. I want you to have that too."

"So you invited the chaste Prince of Starkhaven to dinner?" Hawke asked, her tone sharp.

"I..." Mother trailed off, finally seeing how ridiculous she'd been. "Well, you seemed to like him. Should I have invited that elf you run around with? Or the..." Her mother cleared her throat. "That pirate woman."

"Oh Maker no," Hawke said. "My companions have nothing to do with--with my love life."

"Do you _have_ a love life, dear?"

"I--" Hawke stalled a little. Three years of practiced fingers touching her waist and sometimes flirting, but mostly pulling away did not count. "I might like someone. I don't know."

Her mother stood up from her table and sat on the edge of the bed, patting next to her for Hawke to join. "Tell me about him."

Hawke sighed and then settled next to her. "Anders."

"The... the mage?" Mother asked and then laughed again, a low rueful sort of thing. "Maybe you aren't Malcolm's daughter, maybe you're mine."

That image would have been fine if it involved Anders pursuing her, instead of keeping things professional and friendly at most. And there was that whole business of Justice. Hawke still didn't entirely understand it.

"He is... distant. We don't agree on anything. He's obsessed with mage rights. He's so focused on it; he ignores the blood magic and danger and the _right_ way to handle magic."

"The apostate's daughter," Mother said, leading.

"That's different, Father left to have a family. He could handle himself. _He_ could control himself."

"You don't think Anders can?" Mother asked.

"I don't know if he wants to," Hawke said. "I trust him in a fight, he's proven himself. I trust him to heal me, I... I trust him." She let out a sigh. "I shouldn't. He told me not to, but he's... he won't grow a beard, but he doesn't spend enough time shaving. There's always this dark stubble on his face that doesn't match his hair, it's infuriating."

Mother was smiling. "Should I invite him to dinner?"

"Don't you dare," Hawke said, but there was little heat behind it. She stood up. "I'm going to bed. Sebastian might still be downstairs if you want to court him yourself."

Her mother made a scandalized noise.

"Don't pretend you didn't like his bowing and hand kissing," Hawke said as she strode towards the door. "He's married to Andraste, that means he likes older women."

"You are horrible," Mother said, but she sounded pleased again, cheered by the small moment between them.

Hawke was glad of that, but none of the cheer translated. She went to her bedroom and undressed, shaking her hair loose from the curls that had been placed it in until her fringe lay flat and she looked more like herself again--scars and all. She climbed into bed and after a moment's hesitation let the dog sleep at the foot instead of on the floor. She didn't feel like being alone.


	4. Chapter 4

Anders had done nothing wrong. If anything, _Fenris_ had baited him, yet here he was privy to the sharpest point of Hawke's glare. Maybe if he cowed like a loyal dog like Fenris and gave into her throwing the lives of innocent mages, brought to their end through the Templar's means, she could understand.

"If you can't keep your mouth shut, you shouldn't come," Hawke said, sharply.

"Then maybe I shouldn't," Anders retorted. "If you want to surround yourself with people like--"

"Do you want equality for mages or do you want mages to rule?" Hawke asked him, cutting him off. Her glare was like daggers, a lesser man would have stepped back. Even Justice warned him in the back of his mind to step back.

Anders did not. "Maybe, after all the injustice they've been through, they deserve to rule."

" _You_ deserve to rule," Hawke countered, angrily. She was always so angry, sharp like her daggers. Anders wished he could stop thinking about her in other ways but she'd consumed his mind since the day he'd met her.

"He should _understand_ \--"

"The only thing Fenris understands is that he is no longer a slave," Hawke said, sharply. "You lived in the Circle. You hate the Circle, don't you? Do you see Fenris convincing you of its redeeming qualities?"

"Fenris would rather my people be entirely wiped out. He was probably happy to see Bethany go."

It was a step too far and he knew it the moment he'd said it. Hawke's hands clenched at her side and she was controlling the rage that wanted to boil over. He'd seen her punch more than one man unconscious with those hands, it would not have been a leap to assume she wanted to do the same to him.

"You don't have to agree with him," Hawke said, voice dangerous and steady. "You have to work with him. Unless you don't want to work with me."

"You're picking _Fenris_ over me?" Anders had no intention of sounding upset. It was better than she stayed away from him. It made sense she'd find better companions more suited to her single-minded ignorance about templars.

"What do you want me from me, Anders? To lie to you and say that every mage isn't dangerous? That I'm _not_ the only reason blood magic doesn't get Merrill killed? That Feynriel didn't beg me to make him tranquil?"

If she had punched him, it would have been the same result. Anders turned away from her, breathing out and trying to regain a sense of calm. He didn't know if he wanted to kill her or kiss her.

"Go without me," Anders said. "I don't want to be party to another slaughter of my kind."

He heard her boot scrape against the ground as she left, immediately after that left his mouth. Hawke may have been many things, but indecisive she was not. Anders let out a sigh and tried to focus on all the other things he could do today instead of trail along the Wounded Coast searching for apostates.

It was hours later when Varric called on him. The dwarf only had to say that Hawke was hurt and all of Anders previous anger, stewing all day in a way that paled in comparison to the true anger at the injustice in this world, disappeared. Anders had been healing all day so he tried to focus on restoring his mana reserves as they made their way towards Lowtown.

"This isn't the most sterile environment," Anders said, mostly under his breath. Justice didn't approve of the amount of time he spent at The Hanged Man as it was.

"She didn't want her mother seeing," Varric said. The lack of quip to accompany the comment only reinforced the urgency of the situation.

"She also didn't _tell_ us she was hurt until we'd gotten to Lowtown," Aveline added angrily from the top of the stair, she waved Anders forward as if he were one of her many guardsman. He tried not to rankle under the presumption of that move. He doubted it would have bothered him as much if Hawke had done it.

Varric's bed was covered in blood. Fenris was there, holding a broken off piece of blade in one hand and helping Hawke hold down the skin of her bare leg with the other. She was bleeding through both their hands, soaking her skin in blood and Fenris's lyrium glowed in a faintly red hue.

Anders felt sick.

"Shit, Hawke," Varric said, judging from his strangled tone, at least Anders wasn't the only one.

"The mage is here," Fenris said, low and much kinder than Anders was used to hearing his voice.

Hawke didn't look up from her leg. "Fenris took it out and it's--I can't get it to stop."

"You took it _out_?" Anders voice was more of a snarl, he didn't like it, neither did Fenris.

"She asked me to."

"Then you're both--" Anders started, but there was no time. "Hold her up. Stay _awake_ ," he told Hawke, snapping an order instead of receiving one for the first time in three years.

Fenris complied, holding her upright and Anders focused first on healing the wound itself. The inner artery needed to come together or she would bleed out quicker than she already had. Once that was sealed he worked furiously on making sure there was nothing else still bleeding internally. Then he could focus on the skin, blood still dripped down her thigh but the flow had stalled. She'd lost so much... the room stank with it. The smell of ale and blood mixing with the tavern's sweat and sawdust. He'd done all he could. The blood lost could not be healed with anything but time and rest.

He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead, likely smearing more of her blood onto him and let out a resounding sigh.

"She needs to eat something," Anders said, he sounded shaky even to his own ears. There was too much blood. "And rest. And we should... clean up this."

"I'm sure the Hanged Man has smelled worse," Aveline said, unconcerned.

Or at least he thought so until he looked up at the woman. Her concern for Hawke was as obvious as Varric's.

"I'm not eating the stew," Hawke said, slurring her words a little. Her eyes fluttered shut and then opened again, still trying to comply with Anders' order.

"No brain damage then," Varric said with a relieved sort of chuckle. "Good job, Blondie."

"Do you have spare sheets?" Fenris asked. His hands were still on Hawke's shoulders as if they had any right to be there. Anders suddenly felt the urge to burn them off with magic, but that type of base emotion was better served by those of Fenris's kind.

"Sure, along with my vases for when the ladies bring me flowers," Varric retorted with a snort.

"You strip the bed," Aveline said. "I'll clean her up."

"I can clean myself up," Hawke said, but the tired way she said it, only provoked a scoff from the larger woman and Aveline dragged her to her feet.

"I'll carry you over my shoulders if I have to, Hawke."

Hawke let out an annoyed noise, but let herself be helped to behind the screen where Varric kept his washing. It was easy not to be distracted by the shadow behind the screen, stripped of her armor and lean lines, only because the scent of blood was still the most overpowering sense in the room. If he'd been even a minute later she would have died.

Anders and Fenris stripped the sheets, while Varric went downstairs to bribe one of the barmaids to help clean the sheets and bring some new ones. It was the only time he and Fenris worked on something together without a jab between them.

By the time the bed was remade, Hawke had been cleaned up and dressed in an odd fitting piece of Varric's clothing. It was too short in places and too wide in others. It made her look more vulnerable than the blood had. She refused to let Aveline settle her back on the bed and slumped into a chair instead, closing her eyes almost immediately.

"Should we wake her?" Fenris asked. It took Anders a moment to realize he was speaking to him.

"No, it's... it's fine now. She should eat something soon, but rest is what she needs." He only barely resisted the impulse to tell Fenris off for pulling out the only thing keeping her from bleeding out, too weary himself to lay into the elf.

"We should get her home then," Fenris said. There was discussion between him and Aveline as to when and how, but Anders was not paying attention to it. He walked towards Hawke, watching her chest rise and fall in the thin off-white fabric and feeling as if she'd scraped him empty from the inside out.

He sat down on the table nearest her, mostly without meaning to and watched her with an eye more intent than a healer's need be.

Hawke was still Hawke and must have sensed his eyes on her. She opened her own, blearily and looked at him. "Waiting for a thank you?"

"You shouldn't have taken it out," Anders said. He kept his voice low, but it did nothing to hide the strain in his voice that knew was from more than the depletion of his mana reserves. "And you should have told them immediately when you were hit."

Only being nearly bled out would make Hawke so non-combative. She gave a careless shrug and then pulled up the leg of Varric's trousers until her entire, previously blood covered thigh was exposed. There was only a thin scar where Anders had healed her, slightly red from the bath she'd only just taken, but there were other marks there, faint like spiderwebs spanning up past the fabric.

"A mage did that," Hawke said. "When I was eleven. Nerve damage. I didn't know it was in there until Lowtown. It didn't hurt, only felt like a muscle pulled."

Anders hand reached out to touch the exposed skin and then he quickly drew it back, ignoring the eyebrow quirk as Hawke caught that movement. "Why would a mage attack a child?"

"I don't know," Hawke said. "He just did. Bastard didn't have time to explain after Father saw and killed him in one blow." Her lips twitched up at the memory.

It wasn't any more of an excuse to lay the blame on all mages than Fenris's experience was. Hawke had a good mage, a free mage, her father as an example of why they weren't all as bad. If she hadn't almost died Anders would have told her that.

If she hadn't almost _died_ , because Anders had been too stubborn to go with her.

"Anders," Hawke said. She reached for him, barely outstretching her hand before his fingers were on her own, entwining them together. "I'm fine. You said so yourself."

"I'm not fine," Anders said, quietly. Before he could elaborate on that, on the way her fingers sent shockwaves up his spine with heat or how much he wanted to touch her thigh in a way that had nothing to do with healing, he heard Aveline's heavy bootsteps move towards them and dropped Hawke's hand.

"We've decided to take you back in the morning," Aveline said. "I'll stay with you for now and then we can get you back home when you look less like death. Fenris will drop word to your mother so she doesn't worry."

"I'll be up all night trying to win my money back from Isabela anyway," Varric said.

"Which means," Aveline said, a threat to her word, " _I_ will be making sure you get some rest and aren't trying something stupid like that again."

"Put the knife back in," Hawke muttered. Varric laughed, but from Hawke's face it hadn't been a joke.

Anders clenched his hand and shoved it into his robes as he stood. "I need to get back to the clinic," he said. "I'll come round in the morning to check on you."

"Thank you," Hawke said as turned to the door.

"Maker's breath, Hawke," Varric said. "Did that just come out of your mouth? You must have almost died."

"Shut up, Varric."

"That's more like it."


	5. Chapter 5

"Should I not have asked to move in here?" Anders asked, flustered. As if hours later it occurred to him that it might have been too soon.

Hawke snorted. "Don't you think I would have said something?"

"You don't tend to mince your words, true," Anders said and the way he said it was wonderful. There was no antagonism, only silky fondness wrapping around each word.

Hawke straddled his legs, kicking the sheets clear off them and slid her hands up his chest. Anders kissed two ways, with all the breathless yearning of three years of pent up feeling and softly like she was a delicate thing to hold; he'd only made love like the former so far. She was not complaining.

"I want you here," she said. "All the time. In fact, I think we have three years to make up for, before I let you out of this bed."

She'd made him smile. Anders' lips twitched up on one side and his hands skimmed her hips and rested on her waist. How many times had he touched her there, healing a stray arrow or a sharp claw or a stupid spider bite--it was so different now.

"Your mother might object."

"She would be a flaming hypocrite if she did," Hawke said. "Besides, I think she's seeing someone." She tried not to be irritated by the idea. Father had been dead for some time, but he was not easily replaced--part of her wanted him to rise up and malign the suitor for his impertinence.

"Good for her," Anders said. He winced when she pinched him and then suddenly she was on her back, breath taken out of her and Anders pinning her down by her arms. It was a vulnerable position. She hated being vulnerable. "I thought you wanted her to be happy," Anders said, leaning down to kiss lightly at her neck.

"I do," she said, her voice escaping into a breathless nothing.

Hawke felt dizzy with too much feeling. This was not her at all, but she couldn't bring herself to flip them back over and miss out on the feather light touch of the mage's lips on her skin.

"You are so beautiful," Anders said. Each time he said something to that effect, it sounded like a relieved breath escaping his lips, as if he'd wanted to say it a million times before and hadn't.

She felt warm all over. Anders kissed a path down her neck and his lips landed on the dip above her collar bone, a place the armor usually covered. He hadn't kissed her there before, she would have remembered--it would have been easier not to make the noise she did.

Hawke refused to call it a whimper, but Anders lifted his head to look at her. He was smart enough not to say anything, not to break the fragile pact between them that this vulnerability would only play out here. His eyes were more than brown, they were golden--the woman at that stupid Fereldan shop had called them 'soulful' but at the moment they were staring at her. Just staring.

How often had she caught him looking at her only to turn away? This blatantly, bold gaze was overwhelming. Hawke wriggled beneath him and hooked her legs around his waist, edging him forward. She wanted to feel him again, feel complete and full and connected to that three-years worth of yearning.

But Anders didn't listen. He moved his hands slowly down from where they had pinned her arms until he cupped the sides of her face, then he leaned down to kiss her with the same featherlight pressure he'd used on her neck. Hawke's heart stuttered in her chest and she reached for his head, grabbing the back of his hair and pulling him down on top of her.

Anders still wouldn't follow her lead. He kissed her a little more, but not nearly enough, each kiss brushing against the corner of her lip until finally his tongue flicked out and parted them. One of his hands stayed resting on her neck, holding her head in place for his languid exploration of her mouth and the other descended upon her chest, cupping her breast. She wasn't used to this lack of immediacy. The way he'd grabbed her in Darktown had been closer to Hawke's life and had felt right. The pause between each small touch left too much blank space and it ached.

Hawke dragged her fingers down Anders' back and then up again, digging her nails in and drawing a surprised, but not displeased noise from the apostate's mouth. She felt him shift and finally give to the pull of her legs around his waist, but there was still no harried, frantic pace.

" _Anders_ ," Hawke said his name like an aggravated benediction and the mage had the nerve to chuckle at her. If the noise hadn't vibrated in his throat, pressed to her collarbone at the same moment his lips explored the shell of her ear, she would have broken something. The only retaliation Hawke could manage as Anders continued to slowly rock inside her was digging her nails in harder until her marks cleaved their way into his skin.

He whispered her given name into her ear, a name she hadn't heard from anyone but Bethany and Mother in years and then said it again, louder this time as some of his control started to cede. Hawke turned the moment to herself and increased the pace until it was a muddled mass of limbs and audible panting.

Hawke still felt warm after they had completed, but now all her nerves were hypersensitive, daring the smallest touch to turn close to painful. Anders rolled to his side, looking less wrung out and more like her mabari after a fresh kill. It annoyed her that she hadn't felled him as thoroughly as he'd felled her.

It was hard to stick with that irritation as his fingers traced small loops around her hip bones.

"I keep thinking I'll wake up," Anders said, quietly and Hawke was pleased to note slightly out of breath.

"You are awake," Hawke said. "It was the three years of warning me off that was sleep."

"You should--" Anders started, but in this moment with the quiet afterglow between them and no Justice, it clearly isn't in him to break their covenant. "You aren't what I expected."

She was not a wilting flower, so she did not assume he meant he was disappointed. "How so?"

"You whimpered," Anders said and only smiled as she narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't think I've ever heard that sound out of your mouth. It's... Maker, it's the best thing I've ever heard. You once had an entire polestaff through your shoulder and you didn't make that noise."

"It wasn't a pain noise," Hawke said. It was difficult to be embarrassed after seeing so much of each other. Anders loved her. He'd said that and she'd felt it in every touch since, it was a level of intimacy she would sink into... eventually.

"I know." Anders traced the spot he'd kissed to get that noise with one finger. "This is the most unguarded I've ever seen you. Except..." He cleared his throat.

Hawke was not a coward, so she asked. "Except what?"

Anders sighed and his eyes flicked to the fireplace, merely as an excuse not to look at her. "When you weren't sure Bethany was going to make it."

It was an easier memory now that she knew Bethany was alive, but easier was a relative term. Easier didn't mean it was easy. Hawke frowned and sat up. "That isn't me."

"It is a part of you," Anders said and his knuckles brushed the back of her spine in a way that was firm enough not to tickle. "I happen to like most parts of you."

She snorted a laugh and then allowed him to pull her back down when his hand moved to grip her hip. She used his shoulder for a pillow, a convenient way not to look at him. "I was never like Bethany, but I wasn't always so... " Hard. "... focused."

"What changed?" Anders asked. She felt his nose tip to touch the top of her head, but she didn't know if it was to touch or smell. Did he like the way her hair smelled? There were so many new things to discover. She needed to seriously consider never leaving this room.

"A farmhand found Bethany doing magic. He was going to turn her in."

"And you came to her defense?" Anders guessed. His arms drew her in a little more, as if she needed comfort. He didn't understand the point of this story.

"No," Hawke said. "Carver did. He only played with sticks and had no idea how to take down a man, tried throwing a rock at him and then another stick. The farmhand smacked him aside easily. Carver bled. Bethany screamed. And I killed the farmhand."

There was silence following that statement for more than a comfortable pause, while Anders processed that. She wasn't sure what conclusion he came to when he finally asked, "How old were you?"

"Twelve," Hawke answered. "I still remember the way the pitchfork felt going through his skin, the pressure and give of his organs bursting. I remember hearing the rattle in the back of his throat as he died."

"And that changed you," Anders said, his voice entirely too sympathetic. He too often missed the point.

She didn't grab Anders hand for comfort, but merely because she could after so many times of him pulling back. Hawke liked the way his fingers interlaced with hers automatically. She spread her fingers out between his knuckles and brushed them up and down against his thicker fingers.

"It woke me up," Hawke said. "I knew what I was capable of and what I needed to do to protect those I care about. There is _nothing_ I won't do for the people I love."

The silence this time was even longer, but Anders fingers did not draw away from her own. He kissed the top of her head. He didn't say it, but Hawke felt the words he was holding back. They were the words he had told her too many times before.

He wished she didn't love him.

At the moment, with his arms around her and the sated comfort of their body-heat against silken sheets, Hawke couldn't disagree more.


	6. Chapter 6

"Anders," Hawke sounded annoyed, but when didn't she? The part of Anders mind that was still connected to his past provided a few lewd examples immediately, but he pushed past them and focused on his task. "Anders," Hawke said again.

"Your leg could be bleeding out again," he said, moving her hand away from where she tried to stay his own.

"He didn't get my leg. He barely touched me," Hawke said. She sounded dazed, high from the fight. A duel for Isabela's honor... Anders was certain he was still asleep, somewhere in a web of dreams where the world made no sense.

"Champion of Kirkwall," Hawke said. She seemed to enjoy the sound of the words.

It had been not even a month since her mother died. Since then Hawke had been nothing short of a mess. He had never expected that even her mother's death would cause a woman as Hawke to break into tears, but she had.

The moment he'd given her permission, had said the words that she could take out her anger on him, she had broken. Anders felt guilt daily afterwards at how much part of him enjoyed holding her in his arms. He had soaked up her vulnerable need of him with utter disregard to how out of character it was. What that madman had done was monstrous, but it was not an excuse for the way mages were treated and it wasn't a reason to... to almost enjoy Hawke's distress.

That might have had a little to do with his frantic search for some sort of injury on her form. "There's nothing," he said. He hoped he sounded more confused than disappointed.

"Varric won't even have to embellish," Hawke said, smiling in that way that terrified him. He liked making her smile, but not like that. That was the smile Blood Mages received when she jumped within their barrier and sliced their throats.

"You hate Varric's stories, love," Anders said.

Hawke blinked and looked at him, as if coming out of a haze and then she smiled a less frightening sort of smile. "Is it bad that I admire the Qunari?"

"Yes," Anders answered automatically; he ignored her snort. "You've seen how they treat their mages. They're chained and tortured for their religious rite. They should be treated as a gift from the Maker not a curse."

Hawke waved him off, as if Anders commentary on the true and painful path of mages in Thedas were background noise. "Ignoring that. The simplicity of his offer... duel to the death or hand over Isabela. Who might have deserved it, if I'm being honest."

"When are you not?" Anders asked, but it was too obvious to be anything but rhetorical.

Hawke shrugged one shoulder and then her fingers went to unclasp the other latch on her armor that Anders hadn't gotten to. "I liked the forthright way of it."

"You didn't give Isabela up," Anders pointed out. It was harder to focus on their conversation when she shrugged the overlay of her armor off, leaving the tightly bound underlayer, clinging wet with sweat to her skin.

"I would never do that," Hawke said, serious again. "She owned up to her mistake and came back with the relic. The Qunari had no right to attack Kirkwall and they slaughtered many good men and women, I was not going to give her over for their justice. She deserves to face up to ours."

Anders sighed and lifted himself up from examining her for nonexistent wounds. He settled himself on the chair nearest to her and vaguely considered getting the fire going or checking on the citizens of Darktown. If they were lucky (which they so often weren't) the Qunari would have found the place uninhabitable and left it alone. Even beasts had sense. "At least you completely humiliated Meredith."

"She didn't seem that bad," Hawke said. Maker, he loved this woman, but sometimes...

"She only wanted to cede power in the interim. I wouldn't be surprised if she used the opportunity to rid herself of mages without suspicion," Anders said, voice sharp.

Hawke leaned back in her chair and kicked her boots off. It was something he'd noticed in the last month. She always would leave her boots by the door before, but after her mother died she left them haphazardly anywhere but the mat meant for them. "Can we enjoy the moment?"

"You saving Kirkwall, you mean," Anders said.

"You sound so sour about it," Hawke retorted. "Would you have preferred I _didn't_ save Kirkwall?"

Anders sighed and acquiesced. He was certain it had nothing to do with how her armor had slid up her thigh to reveal a creamy expanse of skin. "At least you saw Bethany."

He hoped he hadn't meant to sting her with those words, but Hawke's face shifted and she tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair. "She was... different. Harder. I... she can take care of herself now, I gather."

Ah. Anders understood now and affection for her won out over his previous irritation. He reached for her tapping fingers and twined them with his own. "All of Kirkwall to protect instead of your little sister?"

"You're an ass," Hawke said, but her fingers tightened over his. "She didn't seem happy. She didn't seem purposed. It was like she blamed me for where she was."

"The Wardens are not an easy life," Anders said. "I told you that."

"Would dying have been better?" Hawke asked, flatly. Only she would put it in such plain terms.

"I became a Warden for my freedom," Anders said. Though he'd never been able to keep it. The Templars had never stopped hunting him, even after the Warden Commander destroyed his phylactery. Even within the Wardens it was another kind of prison. Stroud never let him forget his place with them. He was always an apostate, never a brother. Justice had been the only one who understood how imbalanced the world was. "I would do it again," Anders said. "Without hesitation."

"What were you like before?" Hawke asked. "You said you were... unfocused and I heard Isabela at the brothel."

"Is this a hint that you want to try the lightning trick?" Anders asked with a raised eyebrow.

Hawke pursed her lips at him. "Anders."

"I was... selfish," Anders said. "I thought of nothing but myself and my own goals. I wanted my freedom desperately, but I didn't realize that I wasn't the only one who desired it. I wasn't the only one who deserved it. Justice... has brought me a sense of purpose. We are one... I only wish I--he was not so..." Justice did not want him to continue, so Anders stopped. "Ella would have been at the Circle," he said. "Do you think..."

"We can check," Hawke said. "If she is dead, it wouldn't be your fault this time."

The blunt, cutting nature of her words were not a comfort. "You are going to have a lot of influence in Kirkwall now. You could put it to good use."

"Oust Meredith and free all the mages?" Hawke asked, but he could tell she wasn't serious.

"As a start," Anders replied anyway.

"This is really Sister Petrice's fault," Hawke said, her mouth twisted into a sneer on the woman's name. "Should we blame the entire Chantry for the Qunari attack?"

"This isn't about the Qunari attack," Anders said.

"No, it's about the mages," Hawke agreed and brought her fingers to her temple. "You do recall that I took Orsino's advice over Meredith's on the attack."

"Head Enchanters are as corrupt as most members of the Circle. They rise to that position by stepping on other mages."

Hawke gave a slight shrug. "So?"

Anders lifted himself up out of his seat. "You are infuriating. I'm going to Darktown to check on my patients."

Hawke grabbed his arm, just above the wrist to stall him. He could have thrown her off with magic and her fingers tightened on his arm painfully as if she knew it.

She didn't stand up, but she stared up at him, a challenge in her eyes. They stayed like that for a moment, but it was impossible to resist that look--better men had quailed beneath it. He sat back down and sighed, crossing his arms over his chest when she released his arm.

Silence pressed between them, only the dog's uninterested snoring by the fireplace and the quiet background noise of Orana, Bodhan and Sandal moving about their own rooms. Finally, Hawke stood up and walked towards him. She settled down on his legs and rested her head on his shoulder. "Do you really need to check on them?"

"I should," Anders said, but his arm wrapped around her, drawing her closer. These moments were few and far between in their lives and even with all sides pressing at them he wanted to take advantage of it. "I thought... I was worried about you. Even before the fight, you were in the compound alone when the chaos started."

"You didn't need to," Hawke said. He felt her eyelashes brush against his neck before her lips touched the underside of his jaw. "I can take care of myself."

Anders sighed and tipped his head down to kiss her forehead. "Bethany wanted someone to take care of you. Save us both, but I think its me."

"She said that?" Hawke asked.

"One of the first conversations we had," Anders said. "She seemed to think you liked me."

"I love you," Hawke said. It was the first time she'd said it. Anders had said it and Hawke had implied it by sharing her home with him, but the words felt...

Dangerous. Justice was an explosion of worry in his mind, shuttered to the distance. He would lose himself in this woman. He would lose focus. The mages would go to ruin for three simple words.

Anders moved his hand over her thigh, running his fingers over the smooth feel of her underlayer. "I can check on my clinic in the morning."

Hawke shifted in his lap, straddled him in the chair and pushed her fingers through his hair. She loosened the tie holding back his hair and then twisted her fingers into the freed strands and yanking him towards her for a kiss. She was a deep burn in his center. The love he'd never dared let himself have. He knew he would have to commit himself to the cause, that with the Viscount dead, Meredith would only try to leech more power for herself, but for the moment there was only Hawke.


	7. Chapter 7

The last place Hawke had expected to run into her sister was at an Orlesian party.

Bethany got to say it first. "I have to say this is the last place I'd expect you to be."

Since becoming Champion, Hawke had been inundated with invitations to noble gatherings. She'd gone to a few and hadn't hated them, but an Orelsian party was over her comfort level for idiot nobles. "I wanted to get out of Kirkwall," she said. It wasn't entirely untrue. "I wanted to get Anders out of Kirkwall," she added, which was closer to the truth.

She thought the distraction would help him take his mind off his manifesto and that the distance would give them time together. So far it had. He'd been so caught up in himself lately, but since arriving at the estate, Anders had been making light of wyvern hunts and seemed more himself than he had in months.

"You and Anders," Bethany said and shook her head. "I am a little surprised. A little," she added, a hint of the old Bethany around the corners as she smiled.

"It was good of the Wardens to let you come. You like this sort of thing."

"Do I?" Bethany asked and let out a self-deprecating scoff. "I suppose I might have. If I stayed. I should have stayed," Bethany said. "When mother insisted. If I'd stayed, then maybe..."

If Hawke couldn't save their mother, Bethany wouldn't have made a difference. She would have only been another pawn in that bastard Blood Mage's game.

"Ruminating on what you could do differently won't help, Bethany," Hawke said.

"I think about it a lot, since becoming this."

"You don't know what would have happened," Hawke said. She felt the edge to her voice, tried to dull the sharpness of it for her sister's sake. "You might have been caught up by the templars."

"That might not have been so bad after all," Bethany said, spitting on everything their Father had done for her.

"You really think that?" Hawke asked, the sharp edge back. "After all we went through to keep you safe, you think you'd be better off in the Circle?"

"That's Anders talking, not you," Bethany said. "Father didn't like it, but that didn't mean I wouldn't. When he died, there was no one to teach me about my magic. The Wardens... there are some mages there and the place I have is... it's different, but being surrounded by my people and learning. It doesn't seem that bad."

"It wasn't what you wanted," Hawke said.

"You're right," Bethany said. "At the time, it wasn't. But I was a stupid girl and I didn't know what was waiting for me."

"You're not a stupid girl now," Hawke said. "You're strong."

Bethany colored a little, a flush over her cheeks at the compliment. She was so far cast between the girl she'd been and the woman she'd become. Hawke was proud and sad all at once. "We should get changed... or you should get changed, I didn't bring anything."

"I'm sure the Duke has some clothes," Hawke said. It would be nice to be dressed finely next to her sister. A small game of pretend to see what things would have been like if Bethany hadn't been cursed by magic.

Bethany crinkled her nose. "I don't want to wear Orlesian handoffs, I'll just wear my armor, thanks."

"Good," Hawke said. "You should. You should be proud of being a Warden."

Bethany looked at her and her chin lifted a little higher. "Maybe I am."

The moment stretched. Hawke could tell Bethany was still angry with her, but would never admit it. She wanted to snap at her for being angry. If she had died, then Hawke would be left with Gamlen as family and Mother's last few years would have been horrible. Sisters they might have been, but sisters who told each other everything, they were not.

Hawke left Bethany there and went to change. There was an Orlesian handmaiden to help her. Occasionally Hawke asked Orana to lace her up if she attended a noble party and Anders wasn't there, but this was different. The girl was a servant, not a previous slave, and had been taught and trained to assess and gather all fabrics and settle them on Hawke as if they were molded to her body.

The blue Orlesian silk rippled off her and the corset put her breasts higher than they naturally landed. Her hair was done a bit like Bethany's and brushed against her bare shoulders. This time when Hawke looked at her reflection, it felt right.

Being a dangerous and illegal apostate, Anders had never been to the many social events she'd attended. He'd only ever seen her afterwards, tired and tugging pieces of clothing off and throwing them on the floor. Hawke picked the lock on the door separating their changing quarters and entered. She was only able to enjoy the surprised look on his face for a moment before she noticed he hadn't changed himself.

"You're wearing your robes," Hawke said.

"Observant as always," Anders replied, a tease in his voice.

"You can't wear your robes to dinner," Hawke said. "It's a garden party, you'll look out of place. Even Tallis is dressed up."

"You knowing to wear what to a garden party is unsettling," Anders said. He still sounded teasing. It was a nice change from dour, so of course he flipped in a hairsbreadth.

"You want me to hide who I am," Anders said, frowning.

"I want you to look as good as I know you can," Hawke said. "When you're not stuffed in feathers and covered in three-inches of dirt from Darktown."

"This is all pretend," Anders said. "You want me to hide that I'm a mage."

"I would prefer you weren't arrested in Orlais, yes," Hawke said. She crossed her arms under her chest, it brought more attention to her breasts and she enjoyed the way Anders was unable to keep himself from looking even as his dourness tried to overcome his libido.

"I will not hide who I am," Anders said. "Bethany isn't."

"Bethany is wearing her Warden armor," Hawke said. "She doesn't have to hide who she is. You left the Wardens. That makes you double the fugitive. I do remember what being on the run is like, Anders. I've hidden magic before, even if it wasn't my own."

"Why are we even here?" Anders asked. "You're helping someone steal for no reason whatsoever, even for your vindictive predilections this is a stretch."

"It was an opportunity to get out of Kirkwall," Hawke said. "You were enjoying yourself before."

"I don't trust that elf."

"Neither do I," Hawke scoffed. "I don't trust that Duke either. There is more to this than a jewel."

"And you intend to find out what?" Anders asked, suspiciously.

"I intend to enjoy and opportunity to dress like this _and_ hang off your arm. It isn't like we're able to do so in Kirkwall."

"We could if they abolished the Circles," Anders pointed out.

Hawke wasn't sure if he was trying to make her laugh, but she did anyway. "You should write that at the top of your manifesto."

Anders' lips twisted, but she was unsure if it was a smile or a frown creeping forward. "Would that convince you?"

"I would... I would like to see Bethany in noblewoman's finery befitting the title I won for us. I'd like to have company when I'm entertaining the Hightown crowd." She reached for him, settling her hands on his shoulders. "It isn't that simple. Don't you want to be Anders, without the rest of it for _one_ night?"

"The rest of it?" Anders asked, but he'd tipped his head forward so that his nose brushed hers. She felt a tingle at the base of her spine. Maybe they didn't need to leave the room. Tallis could find her own jewel.

"You can't do anything about your cause tonight," she said, lowering her voice.

Anders sighed and his hands slid to her waist, thumbs sliding up and down as if testing the new thin lines from the corset. "You are... very convincing. I don't know why you don't try talking things through more often."

"Knife at someone's throat is much more effective," Hawke said.

"Then I am thankful I am the only exception," Anders said before kissing her. His hands reached back on her dress and she felt him undoing the laces.

"It took twenty minutes to get me into this," Hawke chided, but she didn't stop him as she felt his fingertips slide up against the bare skin of her spine.

"Then we'll be fashionably late," Anders said, smiling. "That's Orlesian, isn't it?"

"The jewel isn't going anywhere, I suppose," Hawke said, smiling back.


	8. Chapter 8

" _You_ want to be Viscount?" Anders asked.

"Why not?" Hawke replied. She was busy fussing with her hair in the mirror, examining her reflection from all angles. He couldn't believe he missed the days she would forget she had blood on her face until he pointed it out. How had she become so vain, so selfish?

Or was it always lying in wait and he had been blinded by it.

"So supporting Meredith was all for your political goals?" Anders asked. "Here I thought it was only to be an ass."

"Orsino was wrong," Hawke said, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "And she _has_ rooted out Blood Mages. Even you don't agree with that kind of magic."

"They are _pushed_ to those desperate measures," Anders said. Maker, how was he ever going to get her to understand this? Justice hummed in the back of his mind and reminded him he wouldn't. This was all a farce. He didn't know if she needed to get away from him or if he needed to get away from her more.

"That's an excuse," Hawke said.

"So why don't you turn me in?" Anders asked. "Or Merrill? She's a Blood Mage and I'm--" He didn't finish the sentence, but the word 'abomination' hung in the air. Since Ella it was hard to think of himself as anything else. He'd perverted Justice into that creature that overtook him and it... it had happened more than he wanted to admit. The Fade. In the Deep Roads he'd almost lost it all, saw the glimmer of fear in Hawke's usually fearless eyes and knew he'd put it there.

Hawke's sharp voice drew him out of his thoughts. "Merrill needs to be protected from only herself, if I thought the Circle could do that, I _would_ turn her in."

"So you admit the Circle is broken."

"I admit that there is a middle ground between mages being free to move about the Freemarches making deals with demons and templars abusing their power." She pushed her hair off her shoulders. "I've killed templars too. Why do we always have to _argue_ about this?"

"Because you live in a Fade of your own making," Anders snapped. "You've been trussed up going to parties, while Meredith smashes my people into the ground. Your sister, lover, and friends are mages and you don't merely ignore it, you _support_ it."

Hawke stood up, turning on him with a glare that even in her finery made him want to take a step back.

It was... paralysis after that. Anders could not remember one moment to the next, but Hawke was standing further back from him, eyes worrying him and hand gripping one of the many daggers she kept stashed around the bedroom.

"Hawke?" he asked, hesistant. He did not like the fear in her eyes--except part of him did. She was always so fearless, so unbroken, so brave. She flinched from nothing, that she could flinch from him meant that the power behind his cause was even stronger than the Champion... except...

"Are you all right?" Anders asked. He couldn't remember what happened, but he remembered the Deep Roads in the Warden tunnels with that cut marring her face he'd had to heal after he'd lost himself and made it.

Hawke looked at him, searching, willing herself to find the man she loved. Anders both hoped she found and didn't find it. He had to leave her. He had to be strong enough to keep her out of this, if she wouldn't wisen up and do it herself.

"This has to stop, Anders," Hawke said, softly. Her voice had never been so quiet. "You have to find a way to get rid of him." She stared at him. "It isn't your magic that's dangerous."

Justice riled in the back of his mind. He was reminded of all that she'd done, all that she'd said. If Anders lost himself in this moment, he would lose the cause forever. How could he sit around in this mansion after all he'd seen? More mages made Tranquil every day. He'd barely gotten the last group free of the gallows and on their way to Ostwick before Meredith's templars found them and accused them of blood magic--they'd been two mages in love who didn't want their future child ripped from them.

Anders heard about it later, saw the father tranquil in the Gallows... who informed him with no feeling in his voice, that his lover had been executed on Meredith's orders.

It wasn't magic that was dangerous. It wasn't Justice that was dangerous. It was Meredith and all those that supported her.

"You'll miss your party," Anders said.

Hawke glared at him, this time much less frightening. Even the dagger at her hand looked harmless. He was more frightening. He could hurt her if he let her too close. She'd gotten too far already.

Anders had to do something to change this before it was too late. "Wouldn't want to keep the mage-oppressing nobles waiting."

Hawke slapped him. It stung against his cheek, but it wasn't a dagger to his chest and it wasn't laying him out with one blow as he'd seen her do. She slammed the dagger on her vanity and made a quick look at her makeup before leaving the room, slamming the door behind her.

Anders breathed out and raked his hands through his hair. He had to do something. He had to... he was losing her and he wanted and didn't want to lose her. Hawke was the only grip he had left on this world, but it was a grip that was killing all that he believed in--all that _they_ believed in.

He'd merged with Justice long before he'd even met Hawke. It was too late to back out now. The only thing he could do was keep it as far away from her as possible.


	9. Chapter 9

"I fail to see what you see in him," Fenris said.

Hawke leaned against the stair's railing and sighed. "He makes me laugh." She didn’t mean to phrase it like a question. But by all rights, she never should have seen anything in Anders.

"I made you laugh just yesterday," Fenris said.

Hawke flicked her eyes towards him, lips quirking. "Laughing at the way that slaver ran into your sword when you cut off his exit is not really the same thing."

"He's dangerous." Fenris was being a good friend in his own way, but Hawke wasn't used to people looking out for her like this.

"I'm dangerous," Hawke retorted.

"It is not the same. You are not a mage, though you insist on associating with them."

"I don't let Isabela or Varric comment on my love life, I don't know why you'd think you were any different."

"I'm taller."

Hawke could not stand when Fenris attempted levity, it was like squeezing water from a stone--or Blood Magic, creation from something unnatural. "You and Isabela are the same height. And speaking of how I know this, you should not be discussing my romantic involvement when you're sleeping with a woman who wanted to trade a slaver's life for a chance at a ship."

"Yet she did not," Fenris replied, unrattled. "She said you inspired her to be a better person."

"Stop trying to make me laugh," Hawke snapped.

"I'm not joking," Fenris said.

"If you can see a better person in Isabela then why can't you see it in Anders?" Hawke asked.

"He is not a good person. He is a mage," Fenris said. "They are not... always entwined. Merrill is stupid and your sister is strong, but Anders is dangerous."

Her heart was racing. The adrenaline pumping through her veins was too reminiscent of being prey. She was not prey. She had not been prey to a Qunari leader or a High Dragon, Hawke was a hunter. She was not afraid of Anders.

And soon there would be nothing to be afraid of.

They were still missing one ingredient. Hawke rarely allowed herself a daydream, but it was too tempting to ignore the picture of a future with Anders that was without his demon. He would be the way he'd been before, all the time. There would be magic, yes, but she could live with that. That danger was normal, even familiar. Anders without Justice would be... he'd be himself all the time. She'd have the man who wrapped his arms around her while she read by the fireplace. She would have the man who stubble scraped her neck while she tried to clean her daggers. The man who healed her, who loved her, whom she loved back.

After all she'd lost, the Maker had to have some favor and make this right, so a daydream was harmless.

"Do you want to check out this tip on slavers at the Docks or not?" Hawke asked Fenris.

"My concern is noted," Fenris said, moving towards the door. "Now I will try to make you laugh again."

"Please do," Hawke said to his back as she followed. "Fit more than one on your sword, it's long enough."

Fenris chuckled on his way out.


	10. Chapter 10

After everything, Hawke had not expected Anders back at the estate. She had barely slept the past week and was likely to never sleep again when upon briefly dozing, the door swung open and Anders entered. He was dry, even though the rain pelted against her windows even still. It meant he'd come in through Darktown with the key she'd given him. No one would know he'd come inside.

Why had she given him that key?

"Do you want me to leave?" Anders asked, still in the threshold.

Hawke had her hand on her dagger, under her pillow. "I didn't think you'd be back."

Not after the entire potion had turned out to be a lie. Not after what he'd said when she confronted him about it and refused to help him with whatever else he had planned.

_"I told you. I'm a liar. I'm a monster. I never claimed I would do anything but hurt you. Should I have told you the truth? There's no one in Kirkwall I wouldn't kill to see mages free."_

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Anders said. "I'm doing what needed to be done."

Doing what needed to be done. Which meant he'd already done it, whatever it was. "Anders," Hawke said, but her voice wavered a little. She couldn't get the image of him telling her, with Justice's voice that he was Anders, out of her head. "Why are you here?"

"Did you warn the templars?"

"Warn them about what?" Hawke asked. "You won't tell me what you did."

"Did you warn them?" Anders asked again.

"Are you asking if you still have my protection?" Hawke sat up a little more in bed, her fingers gripped the hilt of her dagger tightly. "Do you even need it?"

"No," Anders said. She didn't know which question he was answering.

"They took Bethany," she said. "You weren't there, because you've been... I don't know what you've been doing, but my sister was kidnapped by those bastards and you--"

"The mages, going against Meredith," Anders said. "You killed them."

"They kidnapped Bethany," Hawke said, glad her voice came out sharp. Anders still hadn't taken a step closer. She could defend herself against him. She'd taken on more than one mage with only her blades.

"I know," Anders said, sounding a little more like himself. He rubbed a hand over his face and for a moment she saw a glimpse of what he was.

"Were you a part of it?" Hawke asked, sharply.

"No," Anders said. At least he didn't have the nerve to look indignant over the accusation.

"Why are you here, Anders?" Hawke asked again.

"I... have been trying to stay away from you," Anders said. "It would have been easier if I hadn't spent the last three years with you, most of it in this room."

"Do you expect me to make it easy for you?" Hawke asked. "I did. I told you how to make it easy and you..." Her breath came out of her. "How do I even know this is you?"

"Justice is focused on one thing," Anders said. "My priorities are..."

"You made your priorities clear," Hawke said.

"Do you want me to leave?" Anders asked again. He had not taken one step out of the doorway.

"No," Hawke heard herself say. She couldn't sleep without him. She had gotten too used to his presence and he--he couldn't be the monster he was pretending to be. She couldn't love a monster.

Anders came in and closed the door. She watched him unlace his boots and put them next to the fireplace. Then she watched him remove the top layers of his robes, all routine, all familiar, until finally he stood next to the bed.

Hawke didn't give him verbal permission. She didn't trust her voice, but she moved the sheets aside. His side of the bed had been unslept on and Anders moved under the sheets. His hand reached out to her slowly, giving her time to move away when it finally touched her, Hawke let out a little sigh. Anders kissed her, seconds after that sound. It felt like the first time he had, demanding and making up for lost time. She kissed back as frantically, wanting the rest of it to be a dream. As long as he was here, he was Anders. As long as he was here, he was the man she loved. Justice loved nothing. Justice was an aspect. Justice could not change Anders.

She believed that as much as she could, between gasping for breath and moving with him in the bed. The only words he said were that he loved her, over and over again. And that he was sorry. She believed him, because they were true.

Hawke finally fell asleep, sated and warm and wrapped in Anders' arms. Maybe things would be better. Maybe he would tell her in the morning what he'd done and she could reverse it. They could figure this out together.

It never occurred to her that he had only wanted one last night with her.


	11. Chapter 11

The world had spun to a standstill. Anders silenced them all. Meredith, Orsino, Hawke herself, all stared in abject horror as the magical explosion filled the sky. She never thought for a moment that--

The rest happened too quickly. The right of Annulment, making a decision. Hawke was never indecisive. Kirkwall was a moral backwash of Blood Mages and Abominations, there was no telling how deeply it went--and this was the only way to regain peace. The templars were order.

The fight blossomed too quickly, Orsino wasn't indecisive either. She would have respected that more if he hadn't left his fellow mages to die while he ran ahead.

The fight was instinctual, Hawke had fought a thousand times just like it. It was the moment after that was deafening. Meredith left the decision in her hands. Anders left the decision in her hands. Even the opinions of her companions rang a mute void in her ears.

"I could have stopped you," Hawke said again to his back. Anders said nothing, as the words of the others washed over them. The anger in Sebastian's voice was like heat on the back of her neck. It was justified rage. He had warned her. Sebastian had told her that Anders was selfish. That he was dangerous. That he would always put his own needs above her. Anders had warned her too. He said he was a monster. He said he would do anything for his cause.

He said he loved her.

"I could have stopped you," she said again, her voice cracking against the onslaught of anger and pain twisting inside her. She knew, but she never knew he'd go this far--

"Vengeance... took me over. I couldn't stop him," Anders said. He finally understood. A knife in her hand, his back to her and he _finally_ understood.

Hawke felt the hot tears run down her cheeks. She hadn't cried since her mother died. It made her angry.

"Did you even try?" Hawke asked, but her voice rasped with weakness and it was lost amongst the echoes of battle around them.

Anders was still staring ahead at nothing, an open target for her blade, as if he expected her to bleed him dry as he’d done her. As if he wanted her to. "Justice once told me that demons are just spirits perverted by their desires. I made my friend a demon. And he did this."

Words twisted up Hawke's throat, but she had no chance to say them. Her anger was a flicker in the darkness compared to the burning heat of Sebastian's rage. "Do not hide behind your spirit! It was _your_ hand that did this."

He was right. Hawke knew this, but the dagger still hung loosely in her hand.

Anders took no notice of Sebastian. His world had narrowed, if it had ever been wide. His words were for Hawke. "Kill me now before there is nothing of me left."

His friend Karl had said those words. Hawke had agreed to it, as a kindness. She had understood and told Aveline to do the same with Wesley succumb to the blight. Hawke might have levied the blade herself if there was no other option for Bethany... but would she? Even now, her hand trembled on the dagger at the idea.

She did not hesitate. She was not weak...

Sebastian was staring at her now. She felt it prickle against her skin. "If I'd been in that Chantry today, would you be waffling? You know what must be done!"

He was right. He was always right.

But Hawke couldn’t.

She closed her eyes, took a shaky, tear-filled breath and made the words sound even. "Fight with the templars. Against the Circle."

She heard Anders reply, in astonished agreement. He used to say, on better days that maybe he could change the Circle from within. Was it his hand or the demon's? Was it Justice perverted, or Anders? Was she making a terrible mistake? Even still Anders called it a monster. Even still she did not know if he could overcome it. He hadn't. Had he tried?

"No!" Sebastian snapped, pushing towards her. She saw Aveline grip her sword, but not take a step forward. This was Hawke's moment to play out. "You cannot let this abomination walk free. He dies, or I am returning to Starkhaven. And I will bring such an army with me on my return that there'll be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!"

The threat was justified, but Hawke did not hold with threats. She stepped in front of Anders, grip finally tight on her dagger and her voice lowered to a growl. "Do not interfere, Sebastian."

Sebastian's calm, easy face twisted into something else. The serenity there was replaced with a darkness and a purposed rage. "I gave up on Starkhaven to serve the Maker, but He has turned his back on Kirkwall for harboring heretics like this."

He took another step forward, enough so that Hawke had to raise the dagger to block him. They both knew she would use it if she had to, but Sebastian had not backed off. His voice lowered as he delivered his last threat. "I swear to you, I will come back and find your precious Anders. I will teach him what true justice is!"

They stared at each other, neither flinching before Sebastian stepped out of her dagger’s range and turned away. When he left, Hawke felt the protective ire drain from her as she glanced back at the open space where the Chantry used to be. She would salvage what she could. There was a fight to be had, a city to save, she was the Champion of Kirkwall, she was...

She looked at Anders, his face blank. What was she saving? What was left to save?

"Let's go," she said, stiffly. She said nothing to them of the battle, of the fight ahead, they needed to make their way to the Docks and then the Gallows. When she found Bethany her sister’s words were punctures in an already bleeding wound, but she followed too. Merrill, Bethany, Anders, all fighting for restoring the Order that their kind had broken.

And Hawke lead them all into the Abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some in-game dialogue pilfered for this chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

Anders had done nothing but sleep for weeks. He hid away in Hawke's estate, staring at the blood that would never be wiped clean from his hands. Her name would strike fear throughout Thedas at the measures the templars would go to. Her name, not his. The Viscountess of Kirkwall.

His bitterness at that only lasted until the next time he saw her. She spent most of her time staring at the fireplace when she was home or sleeping. She had worn down to a tired shell of herself. Anders had never wanted to see this, to know what it would do to her. If he'd stayed away... if he'd had better control over the riotous cacophony of rage in his mind over what he had done...

But what he'd turned Justice into was wrong. Hawke had sided with the templars, but she had spared every mage that turned themselves over. The unrelenting hardness of the woman he'd met ordering him to give her maps to the Deep Roads was fractured into something malleable and soft.

He had broken her and he hated himself for it. The Hawke he'd first met would have pushed the blade in, Anders would be a martyr for the cause, and Justice would be free.

He contemplated taking his own life. He had such thoughts before, locked in the Circle tower for a year with no one but a cat to talk to. It was different now... he couldn't do it in Kirkwall. He would not let Hawke find another body. She didn't deserve that.

She didn't deserve him. He should have stayed away long ago. And he knew he couldn't stay, even if he didn't know what would become of him on his own with Vengeance filling in the blank spaces in his mind.

Anders waited until Hawke left the estate and then went through the back tunnels that lead to his clinic. He took as little as possible, there was not much left that hadn't been ransacked by desperate refugees.

The tunnels he'd used to free escaped mages were still viable. Anders had never planned on using them for himself. He knew the finality of his decision would lead to him never leaving Kirkwall alive.

He knew less than he thought about everything.

That is why it was no surprise and every surprise when he saw Hawke waiting for him near the end of the tunnel.

"You could have at least taken food from the kitchen," Hawke said, her voice hoarse.

"I didn't want you to suspect anything," Anders said, even though that was obviously gone. He did not deserve a goodbye. He did not want one.

"After everything I did to keep you alive," Hawke said, an edge to her voice. "You're doing this?"

She knew him too well. She had challenged every belief he held close. He didn't know if he hated her for it, the doubtless absolute belief had been easier.

He knew he loved her. He would have centered himself in her love, settled the ground beneath his feet until she was his only universe--but Justice had not allowed it. Anders still was unsure if he'd been wrong.

"I cannot stay, love," Anders said. "I am... I am everything I warned you I would be."

"You know you were wrong. You know that demon inside you is..." Hawke trailed off, her certainty was gone too. She took a deep breath and for a moment looked as if she regretted it. Darktown was not the place for such things. "Sebastian is rallying an army from Starkhaven."

"All the more reason for me to leave," Anders said. "If he hears I am gone, maybe he will turn his revenge elsewhere. You're the Champion, the Viscountess. You need to protect your city."

Hawke stepped towards him. They had not been close or intimate since the night before the chance of comprise was taken. "You're not the only one he's angry with," she said. Her voice was soft and the lighting dim, but he could see the sack strapped to her back.

He didn't speak, how could he, when the woman who never bent offered this to him?

"The city is safer with Aveline," Hawke said. "I did what I could to stabilize it. Kirkwall isn't my home anymore," she said and stared up at him, her eyes were glassy. "You are."

"I'm a worse living condition than Gamlen's shack," Anders replied, almost immediately. He didn't mean to make light, but it fell out of his mouth.

Hawke let out a soft laugh and leaned into him. Anders arms went around her automatically. "You could turn me over to Starkhaven," Anders said.

"No," Hawke said, muffled into the feathers at his collar.

Anders didn't know how to make her understand, when he barely understood it himself. How could she be offering him this after all he'd done? "This would mean leaving everything behind, love. Your family included."

"Bethany can take care of herself now," Hawke said, she only sounded proud at that, none of her previous regret mixed in.

"I don't... I don't know what will happen," Anders said. "I don't know if I can keep Vengeance restrained." He asked her not to hate him for failing, but now he wished she had. Even as his arms tightened around her and the possibility of a future with her rather than without opened around him. It was still a bleak path to walk and he wanted more for her.

"I don't know either," Hawke said. She sounded so tired. He had brought so much ugliness to her world.

"You can't do this," Anders said, willing himself to let go of her while only wanting to draw her closer.

"I think we have proven you cannot tell me what to do," Hawke said, dropping her arms to her sides and taking a step back to stare him down.

"I am not Merrill or Isabela, you cannot save me from myself. We have proven that too."

"Then I don't save you," Hawke said, as if it were that simple. "I don't know, Anders, but I know I can't go back to Kirkwall without you."

And Anders couldn't stay there. He could have pushed her aside, threatened her with magic, allowed the rattle of Vengeance that still hated her for siding with Meredith to erupt with a rage that would send her running back home.

If he was a better man, he would have, but Justice had made him a better man... and then a worse one.

He took her hand in his own, threading their fingers together as he'd first done ages ago when he'd had more sense than to try for this. She smiled at him, a ghost of what she looked like when she was happy. She'd broken him. And he'd broken her. The pieces were what was left.

They walked the rest of the tunnel together.

"You left the dog," Anders said, once they finally breathed fresh air, hands still locked together, despite the disadvantage if ambushed.

"Merrill is going to keep him," Hawke said. "She needs someone to look out for her."

Anders remembered Hawke's long lasting suspicion and ire towards the careless Blood Mage and his lips quirked up at the corners. "You have a soft heart after all."

"I've killed for less," Hawke replied, sharply, but it was a rattle, an echo of her old self.

"I won't tell Varric," Anders promised.

"No," Hawke agreed, the word drawing out into the future that they were both attempting to wrap their minds around. "Neither of us will."

It was an uncertain future, but it was one they walked together. Anders still did not believe he deserved it. He'd run from the templars and the Wardens with no sense of focus, direction, or purpose. In the end, the only thing that made him not want to run wasn't Justice after all... it was Hawke.


End file.
